


Mystic Beauty and the Beast

by michiiGii



Series: Mystic Fairytale [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 09:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michiiGii/pseuds/michiiGii
Summary: A Jumin x MC storyA young prince with no love in his heart is cursed by a beautiful sorceress.  Unless he learns what love is, and has it returned to him, he and his castle have been cursed with an eternity encased in ice.I gave the MCs names because there are so many of them...





	Mystic Beauty and the Beast

Once upon a time, there was a young king.  His kingdom was vast, and his coffers full.  He knew how to rule his land both efficiently, and with great profit to himself.  His rule was strict, and his taxes were just high enough that nobody had want.  His subjects knew their country was prosperous.

And yet, the kingdom was never happy.

One day, the king held a ball, in the hopes of raising his kingdom’s spirits.  All the lords and ladies of the land were invited to the ball.  Anybody of esteem had been invited.  

But the king had left out one lady:  A flaxen-haired sorceress with pale green eyes.  He had once been a friend to her, but now there was no affection between them.

Nevertheless, in spite of the king, the sorceress came to the ball, dressed in her finest black lace and accompanied by her beloved emerald-tipped scepter.

The king wanted nothing to do with her.  His citizens were quite afraid of her; even the red-headed royal jester, who was the most brazen of them all, had hidden himself away in a secret corner of the castle.

The king decided that the witch must go.

First, he sent his favourite bard to coax her away.  The silver-haired singer was a favourite of the sorceress’.  He tried to charm her to leave, with sweet songs and funny antics.  But she would not leave the ball.

Next, he sent his best scribe.  She was often the one to enforce the king’s rules; the sorceress would find no offence in her.  And she and the sorceress had been once good friends.  But no matter what the scribe said, the sorceress would not be moved.

Finally, the king sent his finest knight.  He had not wanted to resort to violence, but his patience had reached its end.  The strongest and most hard-working of his knights was dispatched, to be rid of the sorceress once and for all.

However, instead of being vanquished, the sorceress made short work of the young knight.  The warrior’s strength and valor was no match for her powerful magic.  The only drop of mercy that she showed was in taking one of the knight’s eyes for her pains, rather than his life.

By now, the sorceress had tired of the ball.  The music was ended, the food gone cold, and nobody was willing to dance, anymore.  All of the invited guests had left; there were only the castle’s usual staff, now.  She supposed it was time for her to retire.

But she had one last thing to say to the king.

“You fool,” she hissed, fixing her dark gaze on the young monarch, “You believed that this pithy ball would satisfy your kingdom?  Such waste!  Your kingdom will never find joy, for your heart is nothing but closed and cold.  Until you learn love, your kingdom will forever be encased in sorrow and ice!”

Even as she spoke, the castle began to change.  What was once gray stone transformed into bluish-white crystal.  The flowers decorating the hall withered and became icicles.  The castle staff began to shiver, and realized that they could see their breath in the air.

The sorceress gave the king a sneer, turning on her heel and stalking away, not once looking back at the continuing transformations behind her.

“You kingdom will be in despair, and you will be forgotten.  For ever.”

The bard shrank and twisted, and became a marble candlestick.

The page deformed and changed, until she was a little, wind-up clock.

The knight flattened until he could barely breathe, and found himself transformed into a tarnished sword.

In a dark corner of the castle, the jester became a little, red cardinal.

But as for the king, himself…

* * *

“How the hell did I get lost, Phillippe?” a young man grumbled, snapping the reins a little sharper than he needed to.

A bemused whicker from the great carthorse was all he got for his pains.

With a sigh, the young man reached into his pockets, fishing until he found his pipe and a small box of matches.  Letting Phillippe do the guiding, the cranky rider lit his pipe, and began puffing away at it to calm his nerves.

He was just a little lost.  He would end up arriving home a day later than expected, but his sisters at home should be fine.

“They’ll all be worried, though,” he muttered, raking a hand through his thick, brown hair, “…Well…I hope…”

After all, before he had left for the winter market, he had been in a fight with his oldest sister.

–

 _“How could you?  How_ could _you?!” she had shrieked, pounding his chest with her fists._

_“Sul Li, calm down!” he grunted, grasping at his sister’s hands._

_“You sold my cat!  How can I be calm?!” she exclaimed, ignoring the tears streaming down her face as she continued beating her brother._

_“I’ve told you time and time again:  we can’t afford a pet!” he snapped, finally managing to grab hold of one of her fists, “Stop hitting me!”_

_“Give me my cat back!” Sul Li cried, still striking at him with her free hand._

_“I can’t; the lady I sold her to lives far from here,” he said grimly, deflecting most of her blows, “She gave a good price for that cat, and we need the money for marke-”_

_“How could you!?” she shrieked again, not letting him finish._

_WIth a fitful burst, she broke free of him, but rather than continue attacking, she was still, looking at him reproachfully.  He hated when she looked at him, like that, and she knew it._

_“I hope you get lost, Vanderwood,” she said venomously, “I hope you_ die _!”_

_–_

“Well, she got half her wish,” the young man thought out loud, looking moodily into his lit pipe, “I am definitely lost.  …A little.”

He breathed out a long streak of smoke, still trying to soothe the ache in his heart.  Sul Li had refused to even look at him when he left for his trip, the day before.  She had really loved that stupid cat… That stupid, fat cat that didn’t always catch the mice in the hovel they lived in.  She would be fine without that stupid cat.

Vanderwood did not like to admit, even to himself, that he loved his frustrating sisters.

So lost was he in his thoughts, that the young man did not realize right away that his cart had come to a stop.

“Where have you taken me, Phillippe?” he asked, looking up from his pipe when he noticed that the cart was no longer staying, “What are you…whoa…”

Before his eyes was a large, ornate gate, which he first thought to be made of glass.  Surprised, Vanderwood climbed down from his cart and stepped to the entrance, in order to get a closer look.  On further inspection, Vanderwood saw that the gate was made of ice almost as wide as his wrists.  To his right and left, a high wall of bluish-white, translucent ice connected to the gate, covering whatever land was behind the entryway.

“What sorcery is this…?” he mumbled, touching what appeared to be an icy handle, as if to convince himself that it was really there.

To his shock, the gate swung open easily, as if an invisible gatekeeper had opened the way to the humble farmer.  The large, double doors gave way to display a long, snow-dusted driveway, and at the end, the most breathtaking castle he had ever seen.  It was a tall, majestic battlement, with multiple spires decorated with dramatic gargoyles.

And the beautiful thing was made completely of ice.

For a few moments, Vanderwood stared at the castle, awestruck.  Never had he imagined such a display.  It took Phillippe a couple nudges with his nose before Vanderwood came back to himself.  And it took a couple more nudges before Vanderwood understood what his horse was trying to tell him.

“…No, I am not going towards the castle!” Vanderwood exclaimed, as the heavy carthorse gently pushed him down the driveway, “Are you insane?  That castle is clearly made of magic!  I am not touching that!”

As if on cue, both man and horse heard an owl hoot in the forest behind them.  A fresh chill breeze and the darkening sky reminded Vanderwood that night was fast approaching, and he had no idea where the nearest town was.  It was too late to start making his own shelter; he had to see if he could stay in the castle for the night.

“…Ok, fine, I’ll knock,” he said sullenly, hooking his fingers into Phillippe’s bridle and leading the horse up the driveway, “But if I get cursed, it’s your fault.”

Unhooking Phillippe from his cart of groceries and leaving the horse by a convenient stable, Vanderwood went on to see the castle on his own.  Much like the gate, the front doors of the castle opened welcomingly to Vanderwood when his knuckles barely touched its icy panels.  Within, warmth greeted him like an embrace; to his relief, he saw that there was a roaring fire in a huge fireplace in the great hall.

“Hello?” he called out cautiously, his feet slowly but inevitably gravitating towards the fire, “I’m…I hope you don’t mind, but I’m coming in!  It’s very cold, outside.”

When no answer came, Vanderwood stopped yelling and held his hands out to the fire.  He had been stoic about it, but a peasant farmer’s cloak barely kept any warmth in.  Gratefully, he rubbed the warmth from the fire into his hands and face, sure he could feel his blood thawing.

Exhaustion began to weigh his body down; travelling always drained him of energy.  Slowly, he began to let himself down to sit on the floor, but to his surprise, something hard nudged his back before he sat down completely.  Snapping his head around to see what it was, he saw that there was a comfortable-looking chair, there.

“…that…wasn’t there a second ago,” he remarked slowly, a pensive frown creasing his expression.

However, no matter how long or hard he stared at the chair, nothing threatening appeared.  The chair seemed to stare blandly back at him.  The young man began to feel a little silly.

Cautiously, he eased down onto the chair.  It did not begin moving.  It did not snap shut on him.  Instead, Vanderwood had to begrudgingly admit that the chair was incredibly comfortable.  Almost sulkily, he began to relax.

“I’ll have to leave early, tomorrow morning,” he murmured to himself, staring into the fire’s flames, “I can’t leave the girls alone for too long…”

Minutes ticked by, as Vanderwood idly planned what he would do the next day.  With the warmth and white noise of the fire, he was lulled into peace, and soon, he was fast asleep.

He never saw the tall, thin shadow until it was upon him, extinguishing the fire and smothering him in freezing darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Secret Santa gift for a friend.  
> I posted my first draft on michiiGii-writes-mysme.tumblr.com, and my "final" drafts will end up here, on AO3.
> 
> If you don't like her name, I'm sorry; I like it a lot. You can always pretend it's your name.


End file.
